Monstret Under Sängen
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: What would have happened if Christine had thought Erik was Monstret Under Sängen instead of her angel of music? This book is a group of fluffy connected one-shots with little plot. You have been warned. Leroux based. [Labeled as "Completed" but is an "On-going" story not likely to end].
1. Part 1

Oh, why did they have to put the girl in that room?

Why couldn't they have installed her in another room while the dormitories were under renovation?

Ever since he had moved under the Opera, the small closet had become the quickest, if simplest way of leaving the cellars. A small catch and sliding panel were enough to keep the place a secret. And, until recently, it had been completely deserted save for the occasional washerwoman who had been left scared and wondering why the Opera Ghost haunted storage closets.

But now, one of those pesky ballet rats had been tucked away inside the tiny room, inspiring him with an twinge of desire to make a gruesome example of her.

Only a twinge, mind you.

He didn't murder women as a habit.

Besides, this girl was no more than a child, appearing swallowed by the small cot. Her blond hair, chopped short to avoid lice infestations, stuck out at odd angles. A few locks fell into her face and lifted with every breath.

Such a still child. If he hadn't seen the breath, he might have thought she slept the sleep of the dead.

Deciding the child wasn't likely to wake, he closed the sliding panel and began to inch towards the door. In times before, he hadn't cared if his foot struck the creaky board but now, every step proved a trial.

 _CREAK!_

Every muscle in his body locked, the flight instinct engaging. But, the girl appeared to have not awoken, merely shifted in her little cot. Relaxing, he shifted his narrow weight.

 _CREAK!_

Bleary blue eyes opened and a shadow vanished into the darkest corner of the closet. The panel stood too far away and it wouldn't do for the girl to begin screaming. It would never do!

In the pitch dark, lit only by the sliver of light from beneath her door, the girl's gaze darted about, crystalline blue barely visible.

"Who's there?" Her tiny voice whispered, fear written across those full pink cheeks and trembling jaw.

He remained silent, locking his muscles to avoid another error like the one which had landed him in this predicament. Her tiny hands pulled the thin blanket closer to her chin and soon, only her eyes could be seen.

"Please, answer me!" She squeaked. "Are...Are you _Monstret Under Sängen_?"

His smattering of Swedish and firm grasp of various other languages made a mostly accurate translation possible. _Yes, I am a monster under the bed. No, I am always a monster, under a bed or not._

Seeing no way of getting out of the situation, he latched onto the Swedish title.

" _Ja_." The girl trembled even more, the blankets obviously quaking.

"Please don't hurt me. I've been good!" The fingers which clutched the blankets turned white at the knuckles.

"I am not here to harm you." He quickly dispelled her concerns even if he had considered making a spectacle of her corpse. Yes, that need never be spoke of.

"Then, why are you here?

"I was merely passing through while looking for little girls who hadn't been good. Go to sleep, little one. _Monstret Under Sängen_ shall not harm you this night."

After so little recent contact with humans, he had forgotten how his voice affected them for the girl immediately relaxed and snuggled deeper into her covers, not out of fear but comfort.

"You promise?" She whispered.

"I promise." Her eyes fluttered closed and he waited, watching her breathing but finding it wouldn't return back to the calm rhythm of sleep.

So, softly, he began to sing.

The girl fell asleep in moments.

The night passed quickly for the Opera Ghost, or _Monstret Under Sängen_ as he had been dubbed. After watching the rehearsals, he was pleased to note the presence of the blond child he had met the night before.

It wouldn't do to be seen.

As he stepped through the small closet, bent on his sliding panel, he noticed a letter sitting at the foot of her cot. Perhaps he shouldn't have pried into her personal things but peering down at it, he found it was addressed to him...or, rather, his new title.

Tearing open the small letter, he glanced through it, groaning as he encountered more Swedish. Of course, she would think a Swedish specter could read her native tongue.

 _Käre Monstret Under Sängen,_

 _Jag är ledsen att jag var rädd för dig i går kväll. Jag frågade Meg och hon försäkrade mig att du bara komma för dem som har varit dålig. Om jag är alltid bra, skulle du komma tillbaka för att besöka mig? Jag är ensam och du sjunger så vackert._

 _Christine_

After some brief study, he concluded she wished for him to come back and sing for her.

"I shall work on my Swedish."

Author's Note:

LETTER TRANSLATION:

Dear _Monstret Under Sängen,_

I am sorry I was scared of you last night. I asked Meg and she assured me that you only come for those who have been bad. If I am always good, would you come back to visit me? I am lonely and you sing so prettily.

Christine

Dear Readers,

 _Monstret Under Sängen_ , or Monster Under the Bed, is the Swedish equivalent of the Boogeyman (or that is what Google has told me). I'm thinking of making this a string of connected one-shots. I don't know. Please let me know what ya'll think of this idea. :)

sarahandmarquis


	2. Part 2

" _Monstret Under Sängen_? Are you there?" The cherub girl inquired, peering into the shadows where "her" monster hid whenever he came to visit.

"Yes, I am here." He said, speaking from behind the wall. It wouldn't do for the innocent girl to accidently stumble upon him.

"Good evening!" She bounced onto her small cot, still located within the closet and snuggled under her blankets. One couldn't help but be cold in a such an un-heated area of the Opera House.

"Good evening. Did you have a nice rehearsal?"

"Nice enough. Did you hear Carlotta?" The girl quietly giggled. "She gets worse with every season."

He could readily agree with her on that point, but as he wasn't sure how much the "Monster Under the Bed" would listen to an opera Diva's screeching, he declined to answer with a sweeping affirmative.

"I have heard bits and pieces over the years. She is not what she was." During his three-month acquaintance with the little Swedish orphan, she had relaxed around him, not worrying as much that expressing her true opinions would earn her a quick trip to where _Monstret Under Sängen_ took his victims.

"She sounds like a dying cow."

"Christine!" He scolded lightly, not truly meaning anything but rebuked himself for the look of terror and squeaked apology she gave him.

"I'm sorry!"

"Christine..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "I am merely shocked that such words would come from your mouth. I didn't declare you a bad girl."

"I shouldn't have them."

"Perhaps not, but you were correct." The pair shared an odd laugh before they fell silent. After a few moments, he picked up his violin and quietly played for her, common now between them.

" _Monstret Under Sängen_ , do you believe in angels?"

He paused his playing, barely stopping himself for hitting a discordant note.

"Angels? Do you mean with wings that live in heaven?"

"Yes, those sorts of angels."

Did he? He supposed he did. He had been a devout little Catholic and, while he didn't love God or particularly like him, he didn't see a reason to deny the existence of him or of supernatural minions.

"I suppose I do. Why do you ask?" Surely, she didn't think him an angel! The girl was far closer with believing him to be a Swedish monster. What could have sparked such an interest in the celestial?

"I was just thinking of my father. He promised to send me an Angel of Music when he died. It will be a year tomorrow and he has yet to send him." Her blue eyes grew forlorn and he desperately wished to find a way to take away that look.

From the bits and pieces he had gathered through their conversations, her father had been her closest friend. The man had the audacity to then die, leaving his innocent girl to fend for herself with the barest help from the Opera House. Apparently, he had also filled the girl's head with odd bits of nonsense. Angels of Music, indeed!

But, it wouldn't do for her to know of his disbelief in such creatures so he went along with her father's story, humoring the girl.

"What would the Angel of Music have done?"

"He would have taught me how to sing.

Goodness knows what possessed him to say his next sentence. Surely, he had gotten himself in deep enough without adding another thing to the list. But, the girl seemed to desire this Angel. Perhaps, until he came, the "Monster under the Bed" could fill his place well enough.

"If you wish, I shall teach you until your angel comes."

Her eyes lit up, and she nearly flung herself at the wall as if to hug his non-existent form.

"You mean, _Monstret Under Sängen_? You mean it? You will teach me how to sing?" It would at least be something for them to do, he surmised. After all, three months of conversation with a young child had limited their fields of conversation drastically.

Even if she proved a mediocre or, Heaven forbit, bad singer, it would provide him an outlet for his talents and a reason for staying in contact with her beyond the fact he was a lonely old fool.

"Of course, child. But, only until your angel comes. Now, sing me a few bars of something easy. Something you know well. Give me the title and I shall play the tune for you, if I know it to see if you have any talent."

The girl supplied him with the title to a common ballad, easily played and easily sung. Even those with awful voices could manage the tune well enough. Even Carlotta might be able to handle it without embarrassing herself too much.

Touching the bow to the strings, Erik drug it across, starting the melodies and waiting to see if the childish voice was angelic enough to warrant an Angel to train it.

She was better.

While still young and thin with very little support, her voice carried through the little closet, almost making him drop his beloved violin in shock.

When she finished, a pretty blush stained her cheeks and she shifted from one foot to the other.

"What do you think? Will you teach me? Do I have any talent?"

"I would be honored to train so beautiful as voice as yours."

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

So many of you requested another section to this that I decided to continue. I'll probably post little things like this, not exceeding 1000 words (excluding author's notes, which, hey, I love those!), off and on. Should all be mostly fluff and cute stuff between Erik and Christine as she grows up. After all, why not?

And, Erik's opinion of Charles (yes, I'm going with that name for him because, why not? It has a little basis)...I admit is a little bit of mine. I like him but sometimes want to hate him for filling his daughter's head with nonsense that ends up scarring her for life and ruining the Phantom's life. Eh, that's my opinion and y'all are welcome to yours. I won't fight ya over a feeling.

Please review and tell me what you think! I'd even be happy to take suggestions on scenes between the two while she's growing up. If you recommend something, I'll be sure to credit you with the idea (if you want)! I appreciate every one of y'all's support!

sarahandmarquis


	3. Part 3

PART 3

Sleep came easily for the little girl. A thorough might of voice training drained one's energies quickly, especially those of a child. Before he left though, he watched her sleeping, blond lashes hiding crystal eyes.

A lock of blond hair fell in front of her face.

Confident that she slept soundly, he opened the panel and glided to her side, pulling the blanket closer to her chin and brushed the hair from her face.

When over the past three months had she wiggled her way into his heart, what little there was left of it? Her innocent demeanor and sweet acceptance of what little truth she knew meant everything to him. When had she supplanted music as the first thing in his mind?

After a moment, he covered his heard with his right hand and quietly vowed,

"No one will ever harm you as long as I take breath. You will never experience pain. You will never know hunger, thirst, or loneliness until the day I die and return to hell from whence I came."

Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and fell silent for a moment, respecting the reverence of his promise.

"I vow on all holy and profane. On all that I did, do, or will hold dear. May God have mercy on the souls of those who abuse you." Rising to his feet, he started down at her. "For I shall not."

With a sweep of his cape, he disappeared behind the sliding panel and into the darkness of the cellars. As his pole dug deep into the black waters lit only by his blue lantern, he pondered. While he had never known his father, he could only imagine what they were like. Kind, gentle…perhaps a little like Giovanni.

No! Those memories mustn't resurface.

While her father hadn't raised her to be the most sensible (who filled children's' head with angels of music?) of children, he had still done a moderately good job. She was well-behaved, well-mannered, and well-tempered.

He did owe something to this man who had, unknowingly, left his daughter in his care.

"Perhaps a requiem?" After tying up the boat and unlocking the door to home, he nodded. "Yes, perfect." Abandoning the cloak and fedora, he swept into his bedroom and onto the bench in front of his pipe organ.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he poised his hands above the keys before beginning to compose.

Hours later, as the sun rose above the Opera house, he stared at the completed composition, one of the most beautiful pieces he had ever produced, written all from the sadness in innocent blue eyes.

Quietly, he played it back to himself, listening for any discord in the melody but found none.

"For you, Christine." He whispered, tucking the sheet music away in his jacket in the pocket over his heart, next to his lasso. "Tonight, your father shall have a piece played in his memory.

The day passed slowly for him, every second dragging slower and slower with every tick. Music refused to sooth him. Pencils refused to draw any image, let alone hers. Clay refused to mold.

With all his artistic powers failing him, he resorted to a deep cleaning of his house to pass the time.

At last, seven o'clock rolled around and he nearly sprinted through the passages and up to her room, anxious for her to arrive. At the strike of eight, she walked into the closet, hardly flittering as was her usual habit.

She seemed subdued.

"Christine." He called out to her, causing her blue eyes to search the room.

" _Monstret Under Sängen,_ you're here! I hope I haven't kept you waiting." She declared as she settled into her bed and picked up her brush, running it through her golden hair.

"Not at all, child."

"Oh, good. Practice ran late tonight and I couldn't get away from the rest. Meg is determined to befriend me."

"You should take advantage of those desiring your company." He cursed his own words. He was a selfish man and her seeking others would mean less time with her.

Ah, but wouldn't there come a day when she would be gone forever? He best accustom himself to it now before it was too late.

"I don't want any other company but yours. You're my friend. I don't need them. They don't understand. All today they asked why I was sad and when I finally mentioned that I lost my father a year ago, they drew away and looked thoroughly embarrassed."

"They don't understand your pain." He replied, despising the despair in her eyes.

"One of the girls tried to commiserate but she never loved her father. How can she understand? Did you ever have a father?" Had he ever had a father? Well, he supposed he had at one point. At least at the moment that he had been conceived.

Whoever the man was had blessedly died without meeting his cursed offspring. He would be enough to drive any man to join the ranks of eunuchs.

"I suppose I did. I never met him."

"I didn't know that those like you had parents."

"Well, you see, we did when we were alive. But, when we died, we became _Monstret Under Sängens._ When I was alive, I had a father who I never met." He thought then that he should have studied more about his alias before undertaking to become it.

Oh well, there was a nice thing about legends, one can always bend them to find one's desires.

"Speaking of your father, Christine, I composed something for him. A requiem. Would you like to hear it?" He poised his bow on his violin and waited for her command.

"Oh! Yes, please. When he died, we were too poor to afford someone to play anything original." Curling her legs beneath her, she closed her eyes and waited for the music to begin.

The bow touched the strings and the violin sang.

By the time the last note died away, the girl slept soundly, tears still dripping down her cheeks. Setting his instrument aside, he slipped into her room and carefully tucked her beneath the covers and dried her tears, ever so attentive not to touch her perfect skin with his corpse hands, gloved though they may be.

"I shall compose a requiem for him every year if it will make you happy."

The girl smiled in her sleep and he considered himself the most blessed of monsters.

.

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, all of you have seemed really interested in seeing this fluff book continue so, here's the third installment with more to come for sure (fluff is so fun!)! Thank you for all the encouragement. I really appreciate it! Every one of them means the world to me. So, please keep reviewing and I would love suggestions for fluff between the two. Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed!

sarahandmarquis


	4. Part 4

PART 4:

"I suppose you heard?" Christine said as she held fifth position, before dropping into fourth.

"Heard what?" He inquired, lightly tweaking the strings of his violin. It wouldn't do for it to go out of tune.

"That I'm moving back to the dorms. They finished them yesterday."

"It will be good for you to be back in the warmed rooms." He remarked, completely his tuning and tucking the violin under his chin to test the alterations.

"I suppose. Though, the blanket you gave me has been quite warm." She paused in her practice and flopped down on her bed.

"I'm glad you were able to use it." He struck up the practice piece and let her practice her ballet steps for a moment before remarking,

"Perhaps it is best you try again tomorrow? You're looking quite tired this evening."

"I am." Christine laughed as she sat down on the floor and unlaced her slippers. "Master Fedorov drove us relentlessly and kept going on and on about how we French girls were a disgrace to our country and that Russians could dance before they could talk." The seven-year-old laughed again and moved to her bed.

He almost chuckled.

"I fear that is nothing new."

"No, I suppose it isn't. Do you like my dancing?" She glanced around the room. "Am I any good?"

Here he paused. Christine wasn't an awful dancer. She had good form for a child who hadn't yet reached double digits in age. Several girls were worse than her but most were better.

"You are a fair dancer, but you were not meant to dance. You were meant to sing." He wouldn't lie to her.

"Master Fedorov says I look like a calf frolicking in a field." Her shoulders slumped and the girl stopped massaging ointment into her raw feet. "Do I look like that?"

"No, of course not! That is Jammes' job." Christine immediately dissolved into giggles, her melancholy lifted with the commentary on another ballet rat.

"Yes, and she does it quite well!" She returned to rubbing her heels before quieting. "Will I always be in the chorus?"

"No. One day, you will be the lead soprano of an Opera House with the whole world worshipping at your feet." Her eyes turned towards him, locking on his even though she didn't know he was there.

"Will you be there?"

"…if you want me." He replied, watching her. He would go wherever she commanded. If she wished her dark monster to follow her throughout her life, he could. If she wished him to never come back, he would keep her safe from as far off as he could, never disturbing her, never letting on that he was near.

"I do. The world doesn't matter to me if you're not there."

He almost cried.

"I will be there as long as you want me." He agreed, closing his eyes and holding back the tears. _Oh, Christine, I live for you and your happiness._

She smiled and put away her ointment.

"Let's sing!" She exclaimed before taking her position in the middle of the room. "Will you play me a scale?"

"Of course." He choked on the words. "As my diva commands." Her laughter floated across his ears as he began to play.

 _Christine, I shall always worship at your feet. I am only a poor dog, ready to die for you._

.

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, you have just read, and I trust enjoyed, the fourth installment! I know it's a lot shorter than the others (sorry about that!) but I really didn't have much else to say and as this is fluff, one can only drag it out for so long. But, please review! Y'all's reviews always encourage me to keep writing! Thank y'all so much!

sarahandmarquis

P.S. There are two Leroux references in this part. I'm curious to see if anyone can catch them both.


	5. Part 5: Part 1

PART 5 – Part 1

 _Drip. Drip._

A tiny drop of clear, tasteless liquid fell from the mouth of the bottle into the decanter resting beside a bed.

Perhaps it wasn't right to drug the ballet master so that his friend might be able to sneak away at night. She would find out one day and no doubt become horribly disappointed in him.

But, now, what did the future matter?

He would not lose her now from a few drops of sleeping potion.

It wasn't enough to harm the old master. It wouldn't do at all to hurt the man! He was a good man, if a little strict with the girls. But, it also wouldn't do for him to wake up to a blond ten-year-old creeping past him out of the dormitories towards a closet to speak with a monster.

Gliding silently from the small bedroom, he meandered his way back to the closet and curled up behind the sliding panel to wait.

Normally, he wouldn't have considered this day any different than the ones before but, this, this was the anniversary of the day his life had changed forever.

Four years ago, he had met Christine.

And she insisted on celebrating it.

Through the small confines, he heard the few remaining scene shifters moving about their regular duties and, the cleaners complaining at them for that very reason.

Soon it all died away and he could pluck at his violin while waiting for Christine to arrive.

It wasn't long before light feet, trained by years of dancing practice, scampered into the small closet and tumbled onto the bed of quilts, blankets, and even one of his old cloaks that he had given her.

It wouldn't do for her to be cold or uncomfortable now that they had purloined her cot.

" _Monstret Under Sängen_?" The girl called out, wrapped the yards of black fabric around her slender figure.

She had no idea it was his and he wouldn't tell her.

"I'm here, child."

"Good." She leaned against the wall and smiled, her blue eyes sparkling in the near darkness. "I practiced the piece of music you wanted me too. And, I've been remembering to work on scales."

"Excellent. You know what I always say about warming up."

" _If you don't warm up you'll ruin your voice._ " It was amusing listening to her mimic his voice. And, comedic.

"Precisely. So, why don't you run through them and we'll begin our lesson." He placed the bow to the strings and waited for her signal.

It never came.

The girl remained silent, twisting his cloak in her small hands.

" _Monstret Under Sängen_ , is there any way we could…um…not have a lesson tonight? You promised me a celebration." Her hopeful blue eyes peered about the room.

"I didn't realize that negated a voice lesson."

"We have one three times a week. Surely, just this once…"

"Christine, skipping a lesson could put you back several days of work."

"But, this is a special day. We met tonight, four years ago. I met my best friend and teacher. Couldn't we do something fun…together…maybe?" She stood up, the cloak still wrapped about her and turned towards the panel he hid behind.

She had to look so convincing.

"What did you have in mind?" Allowing her even the slightest chance of an evening off would mean there wouldn't be a lesson but when she looked at him like that he found he didn't mind too much.

They could always make it up.

"I had thought we could explore the Opera House together or…well…I don't know. We never seem to do anything together. We just sing or talk or you play for me. I want a friend I can take places. I want to show you my favorite secret spots."

She didn't need to know that he knew them all already and had often watched over her.

"I am not the sort of friend that can do that. If you wish one of those, perhaps there is a ballet rat that will suffice."

Her immediate gasp of betrayal at his harsh words cut him.

"No! I don't want any of those girls! They are false! They think of only themselves. They wear masks."

 _And, I don't?_ He asked in his mind but refused to voice.

"I'm sorry." Contrition wasn't his preferred stance but in this instance, it was necessary. "I should not have said that."

"Why can't you come with me?"

"I…it depends on the spot." Her preferred hiding places were secretive though sunlit. Surely _Monstret Under Sängen_ couldn't enter sunlight.

Not that he could either.

His cover must never be blown.

"Why don't you decide on it?" Closing his eyes, he ran through the number of places he could easily hide, easily remain the mythical creature she believed him to be.

Then, a grand idea entered his mind. The night was clear with only a half0 moon (he had been out at the beginning of the night to notice).

"Have you ever gone to the roof?"

Her eyes lit up at the suggestion and she almost clapped her hands together.

"Never! They always said we weren't allowed up there. Can we go?"

"If you follow my instructions carefully, I don't see why not."

.

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Yes, this will be two parts. As I don't want these to go over 1000 words (excluding Author's Notes) I may do this again. I don't know. But, here's the first part, a little longer than the last one. I promise the next one (which I should have up soon) will be longer. Don't forget to review!

sarahandmarquis

P.S. Congratulations to all who found the references! They were the following (for those who didn't know): Jammes dancing like a calf and Erik's referring to himself as a dog.


	6. Part 5: Part 2

PART 5 – Part 2

"Remember my instructions." He said, turning to the girl, fixed in the shaft of moonlight that trickled through the door. "You must remain in the center of the roof. I cannot catch if you fall. Do not, under any circumstances, go near the edge."

"I'll remember." She promised as she moved onto the cold roof, tugging his cloak tighter around her as the wind tried to steal it away from her.

Trepidation suddenly filled him but he slipped out behind her and silently ascended into the statue of Apollo to hide from her.

Christine stopped, directly under him and curled up against the base of the statue, as far as she could be from the edge.

"Is this all right?" She asked, questioning her invisible friend.

"That is perfect, child. You will be safe if you remain there."

She tilted her head back and stared upward at the smattering of stars above her, crowned with a moon in its first quarter.

The odd pair silently enjoyed the beauty of the silver light shimmering down on them before Christine quietly asked,

"Could you show me some the constellations?" Her blue eyes searched the empty roof in search of where he must be but failed to settle anywhere.

"Do you see that bright star almost directly above you?" He asked, ignoring her searching for him.

"Yes, I do."

"That is the star Vega in the constellation Lyra. If you look steadily at the star, you will see a triangle and a parallelogram, connected at a star near Vega. In Greek Mythology, it represents the lyre made from a tortoise shell and given to Apollo," The irony wasn't lost on him at that moment, "and then given to his son, Orpheus, who played the most beautiful music on that even inanimate objects were under its spell."

"What happened to him?" Christine asked.

"He was torn to pieces for abandoning his patron god, Dionysus." His haunting voice remarked calmly.

"That story is perfectly morbid." Christine snapped.

"Would you expect anything less than that from mythology?"

"I suppose not." She stood up and took a step away from the statue. "Where are you? Where are you hiding?"

He paused. Could he give away his position? She'd never see him, the darkness and his clothing would protect him from her sight.

What would it hurt?

"I am in the statue of Apollo." He stated, curling tighter into his hiding spot and ducking his head under his cloak to hide his yellowed chin from the light.

"Could I see you if I were to walk around and look behind it?"

"No, child, you couldn't. I…cannot be seen by anyone else I must scare them. I do not ever wish to scare you so I will remain completely unseen." He whispered, making up more as he went along.

"Why? I would never be afraid of you." Her blue eyes were innocent. She knew nothing of the horror that he was.

"You couldn't help it. I was made to scare all who see me." _What other reason do I exist?_

"Why?"

"Some _Monstret Under Sängen_ I would be if I didn't scare a child by my mere appearance." Unfurling, he peered over the shoulder of Apollo, watching her, head laid against the feet of the statue.

"But, I know you. I wouldn't care how frightening you might be. You've been so kind to me, so gentle. I've never had a need to fear you. You'd never hurt me." Her eyes closed trustingly.

"Let us keep it that way."

"I already told you that I want to have a friend I can see."

"Then allow me to repeat that you must seek another. I can never fill that place." He whispered, tears welling up in deep-set golden pinpoint eyes. He lacked much and she felt it. If only he could be the friend she wished for.

She would never accept him as he was.

"No, I ask too much. I will be content with us as we are." She curled up against the pedestal and tucked the cloak about her, pillowing her head in her hands. "Will you sing for me? Please?"

He heard the disappointment in her voice. He felt the pain rip through his heart and soul.

 _I live for your happiness but I have failed you._

"Of course, I will sing for you." He answered, hoping his voice would hold out. It wasn't easy to sing when one's heart was breaking.

After repeating the lullaby several times, he noticed her steady breathing and relaxed expression.

Lightly hopping down, he double checked his gloves were firmly in place before wrapping her inside the cloak more securely and scooping her up in his arms.

The several layers between her and him should be enough to keep the cold from his skin away.

It wouldn't do for her to wake up in a monster's arms.

Leaving the roof, he locked the door then hurried down the hallways towards the girls' dormitory. The doors were always locked but they couldn't restrain him.

A few twists of his wrist and the door swung open, allow him into Master Fedorov's bedroom then on into the room, filled with bunkbeds. His boots made no noise as he tucked the girl under her covers and took the cloak back.

He would return it to her bed of blankets.

She shifted in her bed before drifting deeper into sleep.

"You will never see me, Christine. Be thankful." He whispered before stealing away.

.

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, I trust you enjoyed this next little bit! I am seriously considering, further down the line of sprouting a romance between them. Now, it will be quite a while so there will still be tons of friendship fluff to look forward to. I would like to know what y'all think about that idea. I think with this idea, it would work to ship E/C. (I'm a tentative E/C shipper, depending on the setting, the storyline, and how the characters are written.)

Please review and let me know what y'all think! I read and enjoy every one!

sarahandmarquis


	7. Part 6: Part 1

PART 6 - Part 1

Tears.

How he hated them.

They were the devil's gift to women to use against men for their own gain. How many times had Christine wiggled her way from a lesson by using salt drops and a pouty lip, especially in the last few weeks.

Either twelve or twenty, all women knew what tears did to men.

And apparently monsters as well.

"Christine, please, you haven't had proper lessons in three weeks. Your voice is showing it, too." To the untrained listener, her angelic tones hadn't faded a bit, still as hypnotizing as his own, only far more innocent and sweet.

But, to his ears, the notes fell flat, the lungs didn't carry as easily, and the vocal cords failed.

"But, _Monstret_ …" She trailed off, almost making him fond of that fiendish title, once laden with pain now carried on the sweet voice of a friend who had nothing else by which to name him. "Can I just have this one night off? I'll work extra hard tomorrow."

"You say that every day you skip class and only once have you managed it." He wasn't even bothering to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"Please?" She pouted her bottom lip and a crystal tear dripped down a cheek. He was helpless.

"As you wish, child. Now, will you tell me why you are so intent on escaping me?" He would be damned if it were something unimportant.

"Well…you know…the masquerade is tonight...and, I thought I might go… I'm twelve now. They said I could as long as I didn't stay up too late." She was fretting now, nervous and shifting her feet.

Safe to say, Erik wasn't happy. No, not because she would be going out among other people, no, he knew she would do that. No, but because of the dangers and he couldn't be there with her. They served liquor and she was just twelve.

"It is too dangerous."

"I know, I know. I had thought maybe you would like to go with me? You know…my friend take me to a party and keep me safe." Her blue eyes were a temptation almost more then he could bear.

"Child…" He trailed off, aware she was no more a child any more than he was a man. At twelve, she had already begun to blossom, pretty and young. Danger would find her in the pit of sin that was the New Years' Masquerade Ball.

"Please, please, _Monstret Under Sängen._ I would really like for you to come. I wouldn't be nearly so nervous and a lot more excited."

"Christine, I can't." He was firm and she wilted beneath his tone.

"I was hoping. I really was. I thought…maybe…I'm twelve now. I thought maybe I was old enough to see you. But, I'm not, am I?"

"Why must you keep harp on this again?" She never shut up about it. Never. Ever since she had gotten in her brain that she wanted a friend she could touch, she'd never let him have a moments peace about hiding.

"Because I want a real friend! I want someone to go with me to the party instead of trailing me in the shadows!" Her ferocity was surprising.

"Then, I must once more repeat, find a ballet rat to spend your time with."

"No!" The girl had enough audacity to stomp her foot.

"Yes!" His voice carried farther than hers, almost melting her in the intensity.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, once more the huddle little bundle he had seen so many times after losing his temper.

"No, I'm sorry. I am not angry with you. It is myself that I am angry with. I am angry I can't be who you need."

"It's okay." He could see it wasn't. Didn't she know he would have given up his kingdom of granite and mortar for merely an hour in the girl's company? A mere hour! Did she think he concealed himself willingly?

How could he approach her? His mind provided a solution.

 _No, I couldn't. Not ever. It would frighten her so much more. But, then again, if her_ Monstret Under Sängen _sent him, maybe she wouldn't be so frightened. Be willing to look beyond the terror and find something she could care for._ Unbelieving that he was even considering his wild notion, he spoke,

"I cannot accompany you. But, there is someone…I will send him with you. He will guard you. You will never see his face but he will be where I cannot."

"Who?" She demanded.

"The Phantom of the Opera." _Oh, why am I doing this? Why would I do this?_

"But…" Her bottom lip trembled. "But, he's a murderer and he's dangerous and he's scary." _And I'm not scary, Christine? I, who you call a monster because you lack a better name?_

"He won't hurt you. I wouldn't let him." _I would never harm a single hair on your pretty head._

"But…" She whimpered and huddled in the cloak before nodded quietly. "If that's all. Will he be kind?"

"Yes, yes, Christine. He will be kind."

"Will I be as safe with him as am I with you?" Oh, the child-like trust of his young friend!

"Yes, as safe as you could possibly be. You must see past the danger, the mystery, and remember I sent him. And, he is dangerous to all but you."

"Then, I accept. If it is the best you can do."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Then, could you tell him to possibly meet me in an hour in the dormitories? I'll be ready then."

"Of course, Christine."

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

First of all, an apology. This book has been giving me no end of trouble. I blanked on anything to write. It's so hard to write a pair that can't see or touch each other and act like normal people. So, I think this chapter should really catapult me into having lots of stuff to work with! Please review and let me know what you think!

sarahandmarquis


	8. Part 6: Part 2

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

So sorry for the delay in posting! This will be the first of two chapters I'll post tonight (baring internet failure). I hope this is cute enough for you? Lots of feels you know!

To those who are concerned about Erik "being in love with a twelve year old" I completely understand your concern and am trying my very best to write a completely platonic relationship (something I'm finding myself not very good at). Any recommendations would be appreciated as this is my first time trying this. Right now, Erik is being her protector and close friend. No lovey-dovey yet!

And, thank you, _The Black Shadowed Starling_ , I have considered your thoughts and love them! I am considering how to use them and, I have ideas (not telling because spoilers and all) but, I think that you would like how I plan to use it!

sarahandmarquis

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PART 6 – Part 2

Red, the color of blood and passion and, in this case, the color of death himself.

After adjusting the red bicorne hat adorned with the gaudiest of fake red fathers, he closed his eyes and slipped off the porcelain mask, refusing to run any risk of seeing his own face in anything reflective.

By mere touch alone, he found the skull mask and slipped it on, only then daring to open gold cat eyes.

The puffy sleeves hid the boney forearms while the long cloak, billowing feet behind him to the ground gave the illusion of his having more weight than he did. Multiple layers of silk and gold brocade thickened his torso, the red bulking him nicely.

"Quite the Don Juan, aren't you?" He said to the wall where a mirror should have stood _._

Gathering the yards of cloth to himself, he swept from his home and ascended the five cellars worth of passages to the mirror where Christine waited.

Taking deep breaths, he raised his hand to knock to alert her to his presence when she swept into view, an angelic vision in white.

White wings spread from her back, a simple white dress hung to the floor and a white mask covered her pretty face, hair pulled off her neck.

 _She looks so…grown up._

"Christine." He called softly, hoping to alert her to his presence so as not to surprise her.

"M-monsieur Phantom?" She called quietly, turning in a circle to try to find him. " _Monstret_ told me you'd take me to the party." Her fingers clutched at her dress and fear shown in blue eyes. _I'm so sorry for scaring you, my child._

 _I would rather die then terrify you._

 _This was a terrible idea._

"Yes, I am the Phantom. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, yes, I am ready." She fidgeted in her dainty white slippers.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his suit and pressed a lever, watching as the mirror slid open, revealing her to him. _Please don't hate me. I love you, my dearest and only friend._

She turned to face him and her eyes widened and a hand covered her mouth, gasping in surprise.

"Please! Don't be afraid." He exclaimed, holding up his hands defensively and crouching, showing her subdued posture as one would a frightened deer. "It's just Erik's mask."

He resisted the temptation to straighten a faux problem to assure himself it remained where it should.

"Erik?" Her voice quivered but she didn't scream. Not yet. "Who is Erik?"

"Ah, forgive me." _What a fool I am_! "A mere slip of the tongue. It is a name I gave myself. You may use it in private, if you wish. But, please not around others. Er- I shouldn't like it generally known. Monstret is the only other who knows it." His hands trembled and he hid them behind his cloak, hoping she won't notice his knocking knees.

 _I hate lying to you. But, you'd never forgive me for my first deception. I can't lose my friend._

"Um…that'd be nice…Erik. I'm sorry for reacting badly to your mask. It's very nice! You did very well. I'm impressed."

"It's a complement really." He replied, bushing away the pain her reaction brought on. "Come, shall we go?" He stepped towards her slowly so as not to frighten her more.

He intended to step beyond her, to lead her to the masquerade without touching her but she reached up and grasped his hand, pausing him in mid-stride.

"Isn't it proper to offer the lady your arm?" _I'm failing already._ He unlocked his hands from behind his cloak, attempting to still the shaking before she noticed.

"Yes, forgive me." He resisted any emotion on his face, knowing she could see the play in muscles beneath the skin. Her childish belief wouldn't last long under such tests.

She gave him a smile, slight and a bit watery before accepting his arm and curling her fingers tightly against the wiry forearm.

" _Monstret_ said I'd be safe with you. Did he tell the truth?"

"Yes, I would never hurt you."

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"It's beautiful." She whispered, staring about her as they wandered through the less-populated areas of the party. "I've never been before, but, I suppose Monstret told you that."

"Yes, he did."

"Have you seen him?" She inquired, looking up at him, crystalline blue eyes sweet. _How can I lie to such innocence naivety? But, how can I tell the truth?_

"Yes, I have."

"He says I must never see him because he would scare me." She pouted, bottom lip sticking out quiet adorably.

"He has a very good reason. He is very frightening. Very hideous to behold and such horrors would terrify even the boldest of hearts." He assured her, cursing himself for building her fear of her friend. But, was there any other way to keep their relationship safe? _I would do anything to keep what we have, Christine._

"Does he have warts?" _Such an innocent child!_ "I wouldn't mind so very much! He's my friend. A few unappealing things won't bother me."

"It is far beyond warts, my child. I would tell you…but, you must only think of nice things this evening. Now, let us have no more thoughts of gloomy things that should remain hidden." He knelt on one knee before her to lightly bop her nose, hoping to earn a hint of smile from her pretty face.

She beamed at him.

 _Far more than I deserve._

"As you wish, Monsieur Erik." She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning upward a bit because, even kneeling before her, he was still taller than her.

Froze, he allowed her to hug him tightly, an angel swathed in scarlet as she held her arms around his waist. He desired nothing more than to press the lips of his skull mask against her golden head as he had seen other do with children before but held back, aware she would no care for that.

No, he settled for patting her back, awkwardly around the white-feather wings.

"I'm sorry, I was too bold." She whispered, pulling back and blushing beneath the mask. _No! Don't apologize! I've never been hugged before…it was beautiful._

"Don't apologize. Not many people…hug Erik." He lightly patted her curls and stood up as she declared adamantly,

"Then I shall have to do it often. Everyone needs hugs." He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the thought of regular human touch. _You are an angel, child._

"Thank you." He replied, unsure what else to say to someone so completely and unerringly perfect. She grinned brightly at him and grabbed his hand, clutching the red gloved bones tightly between her tiny hands, and dragged him towards the party.


	9. Part 6: Part 3

PART 6 – Part 3

The people were stifling, whirling, dancing about him and the white angel tucked against his side, thinking nothing of the mismatched pair. They slipped through the crowd, waiting on the edges of the dance floor.

Women laughed all about them, leaning back and placing hands over gasping bosoms as men flirted with them, propositioned them, and all but took them in the shadows of the columns.

Glancing about them, he discreetly moved to cover the child's ears, keeping her innocent of what surrounded her. She wandered through, as he kept close by, his blood cloak a safe shroud for her from the wickedness that cavorted about them.

 _Why had she wanted to come here?_

But, one look at those eyes hidden behind the white mask, he understood that she knew nothing of the debauchery and only saw through naïve eyes the wonder and beautiful of her evening at the Opera.

When the music quieted and many couples left the dance floor, a waltz started and Christine lit up, turning to him and pulling him towards the dancefloor.

"Dance with me!" She cried, unashamed of being accompanied by the most dangerous of all the Opera House's fiends.

"I…do not dance…often."

"Just this one time? Please?" _Those pleading blue eyes_ …

"Of course, Christine." He replied, allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor by tiny hands and nimble feet.

He wouldn't lie that the first few turns were awkward, she was so short, so small. Her neck bent awkwardly to look at him. Her eyes showed her happiness and he put aside the awkwardness, the feeling of being watched by everyone.

This night was for her.

He couldn't grant her everything she desired, but he could grant her this.

The dance moved on, fewer and fewer partners drifting across his line of sight as he blocked them from his mind, preferring to watch her, enjoying her first dance.

 _I am sorry your partner isn't more presentable or appealing, my child._

But, despite his guilt at taking something special from her he refused to deny that she didn't seem to mind and he was enjoying every moment.

As the dance wound to an end, he realized everyone on the floor was simply staring at them. All the revelers had abandoned the floor and mostly silence covered those close enough to see the odd pair.

He wrapped his scarlet cloak about her, hiding all but her white-masked face in the yards of red cloth. A shift of a foot, a pressing of a series of hidden levers and the floor gave way beneath them, swallowing them in a whoosh and a squeak of terror from Christine.

His feet hit the ground first, knees bending to take the force of the landing while holding her against him so she wouldn't feel any pain on impact.

"What was that?" She shout-whispered to him, turning inside his red cloak and pressing herself close to him, her eyes fearfully flitting about the dark of the tunnel they stood in.

"They were staring at us."

"Yes." She shuddered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked to go. I didn't want to get you in trouble!" _So much like her, to think of others over herself._

"No, if anything, that was good for my reputation. A show of power will usually do the trick." She giggled, stepping out of his arms and examining on of the cold stone walls.

"Are we going back to the party?"

"Would you like to?"

"I don't know. It seems like such a grand exit; we'd ruin it if we went back and left again." She rested her hand against the wall and gathered the trails of her skirts into her hands to keep them off the dirty floor. "But, I don't want to go back to the dormitory."

"We…could go to my house?" He didn't know why he offered, he really shouldn't have. She trusted him and wouldn't turn him in but that didn't mean he showed her his secrets and his home.

She probably wouldn't like it anyway.

"Under the Opera? Five cellars down?" He couldn't mistake the thrill in her voice.

"Yes. It's perhaps not the best place…certainly not as beautiful as up above but, there will be tea and I believe I could find something for a late supper?" The last part was debatable but he would find something, even if it meant leaving her for thirty minutes to raid the Opera kitchen.

"As long as it wouldn't be an inconvenience?" Her blue eyes looked up at him, hope warring with propriety.

"Not at all. Come with me." He offered her his hand and led her deep into the bowels of the opera.


	10. Part 6: Part 4

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Fear not, your eyes haven't decieved you! I have updated twice in a row! *rejoices* I felt the writing bug biting me so I decided to write this little piece of fluffy fluff.

Within this fluffy fluff of fluffness, is hidden a subtle Leroux reference and a Kay reference. I'm curious to see who picks up on them...*slyly grins*

sarahandmarquis

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PART 6 – Part 4

"Do you like it?" He asked, clasping his hands in front of his stomach and watching the white-robed child meander about his sitting room. Children liked bright colored things and, this sitting room was anything but that.

A few scant candles flickered against dark red wallpaper and dark gold Persian rugs covered the floors and hid under dark maroon settees and chairs. It was dark. Surely, she couldn't like it?

"It's very elegant." She replied. "But, it needs flowers." She grinned at him, slipping off her mask and turning in a circle about the room. "Like, bouquets of flowers!"

 _Has she lost her mind_?

"Any particular flower?" He asked, going along with her ramblings.

"Roses. Red roses. Maybe a few white here and there? Bound in black or red ribbons!"

"Perhaps when you come again, there will be flowers." He answered, finding himself smiling at the twirling girl, brightening his sitting room with her very presence.

"Can there be? Am I asking too much? I do so love roses, of every color." Her expression turned wistful and he basked in the sight before drawing himself back into the present and saying,

"Shall I find something for you to eat?" She nodded absentmindedly, her eyes focused on the books filling a dark bookcase. Considering anything possibly dangerous to her mind was written in a foreign language, he felt comfortable leaving the child alone to find her something to eat.

His larder proved nearly empty, supplying him only with some cold ham and cheese. For drinking, only water could be found since he wouldn't dream of giving her any form of alcohol. _She is far too young_.

Unimpressed to the point of being ashamed, he returned with the tray, laden with everything he had, to the sitting room and present it to her, prepared to make appropriate apologies when she exclaimed happily at the food and settled down to her "feast."

"I'm sorry I don't have more…" He trailed off, watching her forget her manners for a moment.

"I haven't had ham in months!" She declared, realizing her actions and ducking her head from him. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be so greedy." Retracting her fingers, she stared at the tantalizing pieces of meat and attempted to chew slowly, hesitating glancing up at him to see if he would scold her.

"You needn't mind your manners so closely here. I won't fault you for them." How many times had he gorged himself on a hearty meal after not having eaten fine in weeks or months?

"Thank you. Meat is expensive, only those in the Opera House who can afford to buy meat get to eat it regularly. It's just a treat for the ballet girls." He sadly understood why the finer things of life were denied. Expenses were tight and so often the wealth didn't filter down into the lower dregs of the Opera House employees.

"If you like, you can come here frequently and eat to your hearts content whatever meat you desire the most?" _Why am I offering this to her?_ Spending more time with her in this relationship would only cause problems for the other! He had only meant to exist for the masquerade.

"Do you mean that?" Her blue eyes locked on him, the hope within them tearing away any thoughts he had of completely returning to the shapeless _Monstret Under Sängen_ he had been.

"Yes, I do. Is there something in particular you enjoy?"

"Father and I, whenever had a little bit of a money to spent on a foolish thing would always buy Swedish salmon or herring. It reminded us of home." She paused and licked her fingers before shaking her head and amending her statement. "But, really any meat will do."

He nodded, already processing the best place for Jules to pick up a small shipment of Swedish salmon and Swedish cook book.

While he considered the implications of this new way of cooking, his guest began to nod off over her meal, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her. Before she completely slipped into the world of the sleeping, he scooped her up into his arms, the small girl snuggling against his bony chest and her breathing evening out.

After a moment of her shoulder rise and fall in peaceful rest, he carried her out of his house and back through the tunnels, careful to not jostle her.

In her sleep, her hands latched onto his red cloak, winding the blood cloth tightly through her fingers. When they reached the dormitories, empty as the girls were still out dancing, this proved a great inconvenience as he tried to lay her down in her bed and she wouldn't let go of his cloak.

Sighing with quiet regret, he unbuckled the cloak and carefully wrapped it around her.

"The second cloak you've weaseled from me." He whispered to the sleeping child before being sure she was comfortable and the cold presented no danger to her. The cloak, made of the finest cashmere, would keep even the bitterest winters of Russia out; it should keep a ballet girl warm in the cold dormitories.

He would have stayed longer, perhaps even sung her something but the sounds of pattering feet warned him of the approach of others and he disappeared into the night, thinking nothing of the cloak left behind. Or what a smart girl could deduce from it.


	11. Part 7: Part 1

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Well, here's your next part! I hope you enjoy. I'm considering adding parts that are set between previous parts. I'll be sure to make it very clear what moves along the "plot" and what is set before, if I decide to do this. But, I thought I'd let all of you know!

sarahandmarquis

P.S. I AM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING UNTIL NOW! I didn't realize I hadn't added this.

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PART 7 – Part 1

"Monstret?" The child wrapped in yards of red fabric asked.

"Yes, child?"

"Did you hear about the auditions they are holding?"

"Yes, I did hear about them. What about them?" He inquired, feeling her nervousness through her voice.

"Well, I was wondering, if you didn't mind that is and thought I could do, if I could audition for a small voice part instead of just a place in the chorus." She looked steadily into her lap as she muttered this request and steadily tugged on a loose thread, come loose since he had given it to her as he would never dream of letting such a thing on his own garments.

Could she? Could she sing and act well enough?

Was it time?

If it weren't time, when would it be?

"Why do you ask this, Christine?" Maybe if he heard her reasons, he would know.

"You've been teaching me for so long, and I've done well. I can hear myself getting better. And, while I love singing for you, I would like to sing on stage. Just a little. I want to make you and Erik proud."

Ever since he had revealed himself as the Phantom of the Opera to her, she rarely referred to him alone, always bringing in his other persona as someone she wanted to please. It annoyed him to no end. It didn't matter that he was both. Her affections were now split.

"Well," he replied, "you can try. It doesn't hurt to try. Your voice is very beautiful and sounds very sweet, if a bit childish. They will be hard pressed to find a better."

She grinned brightly at him, making it worth all the trouble her auditioning might cause.

"If they ask for your teacher, what will you tell them?"

"What would you like for me to tell them?" She inquired, fully aware that telling them that the Monstret Under Sängen wouldn't reflect well on her sanity.

"Tell them…" He hesitated. "If they ask, tell them that your teacher prefers to remain unknown."

She nodded, wrapping the extra fabric at the bottom of the cloak around her toes to keep them warm.

"And if they press me?"

"I shall be there to see that they don't." She nodded again and lightly stroked the faint embroidery on the cloak pooled about her slight figure.

"Monstret, is the black cloak yours?" It took him a moment to remember the black cloak she spoke of as she had been using his red one since he gave it to her after the Masquerade. Perhaps he should have paid more attention but as the question was an innocent one, he didn't think to lie.

"Yes. I gave it to you because I wanted you to be warm."

"Oh." She replied, falling silent as thoughts filled her mind. He noticed her silence and felt uneasy. What was going on in that pretty head of hers?

"Is something wrong, Christine?"

"No, nothing's wrong." She gave the wall a pretty smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"What is on your mind then?" He inquired, the tendrils of worry creeping through his own belly. Such expressions rarely meant good things. Had he let something slip he hadn't realized? Did the ownership of the cloak really matter?

"Nothing." She clung tighter to the red garment and shook her head. "No, I don't want to talk about it. Can we sing?"

"Of course." He let the subject drop and carefully coached her through some pieces she considered performing, thrusting aside the worry that bit at his insides from the thoughts obviously in her mind.

When she was too tired to continue, he encouraged her to sleep but she shook her head, refusing his suggestion.

"No, I want to stay up."

"Why?" He asked, wondering the child, falling asleep where she sat but stubbornly unwilling to sleep. "Master Fedorov will be wondering where you are soon."

"I don't want to go. I want to stay here."

"Why? Is something going on in the chorus?" He pried, thinking back the past few weeks and failing to remember any problems with them. Maybe that was what was bothering her.

"No." She muttered, curling deeper into the cloak.

"Tell me what happened, Christine." His order carried sharply through the room.

"They laughed at me!" She exclaimed, burying her head deep into the cloak and disappearing completely beneath the scarlet material.

"What happened?" He asked, keeping the anger from his tone and attempting to be compassionate.

"They…" He could hear her lip trembling. "They saw me with the black cloak and said that –" Tears had started, "that someone must have been 'investing' in beauty for a later d-date." The cloak fell away a bit and he was greeted with the sight of her holding her head in her hands, shoulders shaking. "Then one of them –" She broke off and just cried.

"What did they say, Christine?"

"They said that maybe…maybe I already had a –" Her voice cracked and the sobs filled the room, words long gone from her mind. His words also failed him and, in a desperate attempt to calm her, he began to play his violin.

The music masked the tears and wrapped itself around her in the comforting embrace he couldn't give.


	12. Part 7: Part 2

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Here's the second part! I'm not sure about this chapter. Please let me know in the reviews what you think.

sarahandmarquis

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PART 7 – Part 2

She fell asleep quickly when his violin playing changed from a soothing piece to a lullaby. When he was sure she was asleep, he carried her back into the tunnels of the Opera House towards the dormitories. When he paused at his secret door, he heard the muted conversation of the ballet girls.

He couldn't very well walk in and deposit her in bed with them watching. But, she needed to sleep. Needed comfortable sleep.

Slipping away from his secret door, he turned back towards his house. They had hurt her with their words and he would keep her away from them for the night. She could sleep in a comfortable bed, wake to a warm meal and possibly have the day off.

She could miss rehearsal. A letter to the ballet master and she would be allowed her time of rest. If anything, he could help her with her audition piece.

While considering all this, he did the unthinkable and tripped. He caught himself before he fell but nevertheless the jolt woke her, her blue eyes blearily peering up at him.

"Erik?" She whispered, the darkness keeping her from seeing him except for his gold eyes.

"Yes, it's Erik. You're safe."

"Where are you taking me?" She burrowed her head into his cloak and evening suit.

"To my home. You need to sleep."

"They'll wonder where I am." She responded, surprisingly not too argumentative about staying overnight away from the ballet girls.

"I'll be sure to send them a note. _Monstret_ told me what happened. You will stay with me for a little while." She nodded quietly.

"Thank you." She whispered, reaching up and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He lightly patted her back and hummed to her. "How long can I stay?"

"As long as you want."

"Can I stay forever?" She asked, a few more tears escaping. "Can I never leave? Maybe _Monstret_ can come live with us in the walls or under a bed and we'll be so happy." She rambled on while he hummed quietly to her.

She wanted to stay forever, never to return to the surface. While he couldn't grant that wish, he would give her some time, maybe even a week. A discreet letter to the ballet master and she wouldn't be a required presence. If the man worried, he could even promise to help her through her steps.

"You may stay a little while at least." He answered and apparently it was the answer she wanted as she smiled and fell back asleep. The walk back to the house was simple and soon she was tucked under the blankets in his mother's bed.

While she slept, he ran errands, a note to the ballet master, a "shopping" trip to get her Swedish herring and salmon, and a trinket he thought looked pretty in the window of a shop.

By the time he returned, she was already wide awake and sitting under the blankets, waiting for him to return.

"Ah, good morning, Christine. Did you sleep well?" He asked, setting aside his packages and moving to stand by the bed.

"Yes, very well." She replied, stretching a little. "What's for breakfast?"

"What would you like?"

"I don't care. Just something good." She played with the fringe on the corner of the blanket. "Where is my cloak?"

"I hung it up on the closet by the front door. Do you want it?" She shook her head and stood up, brushing the wrinkles from her dress.

"No, I just wanted to know where it was. Can I come with you the kitchen?" She asked, peering up at him through innocent blue eyes.

"Of course." He replied and she grabbed his gloved hand, melting his heart with the sweet smile on her face. How he treasured this child and her adoring naïve kindness.

As they walked towards the kitchen, she glanced upward at him and inquired,

"How long have you known _Monstret_?" The question struck him and he found himself without words for a moment as he scrambled to find something to tell her. _What do I say!_

"A very long time." He finally answered, deciding it wasn't too much of a lie.

"Where did you meet?" She asked again, surprising him with her curiosity over their relationship.

"It's been so long, I'm afraid I don't remember. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." She replied, looking for a moment at the long black cloak hanging from his shoulders. " _Monstret_ gave me a cloak a lot like yours." She commented, touching the warm cashmere.

"He did?" He replied, feeling his throat close, making it hard to breathe.

"Yes, and, it smells a lot the same." The pretty child appeared thoughtful.

"Well, we both live underground, so, maybe that's the similarity?" She shrugged and changed the subject to breakfast, leaving only him worried.

She wasn't the foolish child that he believed her to be anymore. It wouldn't be long before she realized her two friends were just one lonely monster, who had been lying to her for five years.

He'd lose her if she ever found out.

 _She'll never trust me again. I'll lose her friendship that I prize so highly!_

 _Forgive me, Christine! Forgive your poor monster. He loves you so._


End file.
